Branded
by xTimexTurnerx
Summary: Draco is trying to pick of up the pieces of his confusing past and move ahead in what feels like a purposeless future: "I was bored. Bored of feeling like my only purpose was to stare at the black mark seared into my skin." Draco/ Astoria


_No pit of shadow to crawl into,_

_And his blood beating the old tattoo_

_I am, I am, I am._

- Suicide off Egg Rock by: Sylvia Plath

* * *

Chapter One: Oil Blood

Have you ever had an identity crisis? A true, 'I have no idea who I am and what my purpose in life is' moment?

I suppose it was predominantly for middle-aged people, who start to be able to materialize their own mortality. They realize on the roller coaster of life, they're no longer ticking up the hill, but halfway down the drop. All of a sudden they need a new fast racing broom, new robes, vacations to exotic places. The children are all grown and graduated and the parental duty so long given is not easily forgotten.

To me, I could understand that type of identity crisis. What I did not understand is how I was feeling the same emptiness of purpose at the age of twenty.

Once Voldemort fell, my position in society transformed from rigidly defined to completely grey. Everyone knew about my family's involvement with the Death Eaters. Although we avoided Azkaban, in most wizard's eyes we were seen guilty. I eluded imprisonment because of a testimony from Harry Potter.

My teeth automatically set on edge with stirred feelings of hate. _Harry Potter._ I could do spells he couldn't even dream of. I agreed with Snape—he is a perfectly adequate wizard. Perhaps above average in DADA and flying, but other than that I could easily curse circles around him.

Yet, _he_ was in a secured Auror job at the Ministry, while I idly passed my time listening to my mom chatter about what pure-blood witch I should try and court, pretending we still held our esteemed place in the social circle. As far as I am concerned, we're damned if we do, damned if we don't. No pure blood families who stayed loyal to Voldemort wanted to inter-mix with traitors, and blood-traitor families wanted nothing to do with a past Death Eater. I had resolved on spending my life alone.

"Draco," my father said one morning at breakfast. "You need to start thinking about a career," his lips were in a pursed line. His skin matched his white hair, and the purple bags under his eyes were starting to fade slowly from those years of intense stress.

"Who would like to hire a former Death Eater? Know anyone?" I asked sardonically and moodily poked at my eggs. Lucius was silent.

"You have so many talents, Draco," my mum's breathy voice added.

"Think I can put 'attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore' on my resume?" I muttered darkly.

My father dropped his heavy silver fork onto the table. "Enough," he hissed. "You will find a job," Lucius said decidedly. What a filthy hypocrite. He was out of work as well, being better known as a Voldemort supporter. And neither of us had to work, with the sizeable Malfoy fortune sitting in Gringotts, the income was unnecessary.

But in all honesty, I was bored. Bored sitting around alone, bored feeling like my only purpose was to stare at the black mark seared into my skin, and bored of feeling like my parents would fix everything. Because they couldn't, not this time.

I thought back to all the times I had threatened, _"My father will hear about this!"_ Thinking my father was like God and could make anything happen. His hugeness in my eyes had cast me in a protective shadow, but now there was _no pit of shadow to crawl into_. Now, with his receding hairline, paper skin and powerless stance, commands from him embarrassed me.

"I'll go 'round to the Ministry tomorrow," I said stiffly. I would first have to clear my useless schedule of doing nothing, but I could probably manage.

"How exciting! What department do you think you'll try?" Narcissa peeped, showing the small spark in her eyes for status.

"One that'll take me." I answered simply.

"Good attitude," my mum approved nodding.

Lucius said nothing.

I stood in the smooth black marble entrance of the Ministry for Magic for around a half hour. I sat on the edge of a newly replaced fountain, and watched wizards and witches bustle by with purpose. What did that feel like? I couldn't help but wonder if their steps would sound different than mine, because they were fuller and more realized.

Did their blood beat faster? Mine felt like thick oil pumping mechanically through a machine, turning from one cog to the next. I bet their blood poured like juice, smooth and full of sugar. Behind my rhythmic thudding all I could hear was my pulse mocking _I am, I am, I am_.

By the time I had approached a directory, I was so tired from exertion I would have rather returned home. But I thought about my mum's spark and I decided I couldn't suck the oxygen from it. I had to at least try.

I entered a lift and merely let the other people decide which floor I would visit. We chimed on floor two and heard the cool voice announce, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement." I involuntarily shivered. Flashbacks of my own Wizengmot trial popped in front of my eyes like camera bulbs. I think I'd pass.

The next stop was the top floor, seven. "_Department of Magical Games and Sports_," at least brooms were inanimate objects that didn't care if you were branded with a dark mark.

I hesitantly stepped out of the elevator into the small, but inviting office. The Magical Games and Sports area was the opposite of traditional Malfoy décor, trademarked by clean lines, neutrals, and cold textured surfaces. The floors were a thick red carpet and team flags hung from every wall with cartoon colors and moving mascots. Once my eyes adjusted, I noticed the small wooden desk perched among the chaos.

A small but striking witch was sitting there, trying helplessly to sort the uncountable stacks of parchment. Her ebony hair was contrasting sharply with her confused looking deep blue eyes. If you looked quickly, you may think they were made of entirely pupils, but the fluorescent lights lit up the cobalt in an electric way.

I saw her small placard and noticed "A. Greengrass." I recognized the surname from Pansy's friend, Daphne, in school. I dimly recognized

"Hello," I said, realizing how different my voice sounded now than it did when I used to try and impress girls in school. Before the war.

She smiled a dazed smile at me, "Oh. Hi. Are you here for an appointment?"

"Not quite, I was wondering if any part of the department was hiring?"

Her eyebrows shot into her hair as she wheeled her chair around to the ceiling-high filing cabinet. She tapped one drawer with her wand and shouted, "Watcher!"

Draco jumped out of the way just in time for the drawer to shoot out and span the length of the room. She muttered under her breath and pulled out a slim file.

"Here," she said, tapping the drawer back into place. She handed me the folder with the faded tab, _Applications._ "I know the department is starting to get busy, putting together the World Cup for the year. I'm sure they'll need some more hands," she said brightly.

I was bemused and almost annoyed by her bubbling. I hadn't been exposed to so much enthusiasm since Crabbe and Goyle at the last Hogwarts feast.

"Er, thanks." I paused, taking the envelope. "Do you think they'll hire me?" I asked. She looked confused, "why?"

"I mean," I paused, "not many people are fans of Malfoys." I said.

"Well," she said, "they hired me, and I'm a pureblood."

I had to hold in a batch of unkind laughter, how could anyone mistrust a doe? Her long hair, and dark big eyes begged for protection. She could have been Voldemort's daughter and I doubt people would accuse her of killing a fly.

"You can fill it out now," she suggested, gesturing to the chair next to her desk.

I hesitantly sat down and grabbed a spare quill half-hiding under a stack of parchment. I filled out the basic fields of information and gave it to Ms. Greengrass. "I'm Draco, by the way," I said putting out my hand.

"Astoria," she countered, shaking his hand lightly. She tapped my application with her wand and it disappeared. "We'll be in touch," she said.

"I look forward to it," I said, nodding my head. Her cheeks tinged pink. I floo'ed home, with my blood feeling thinner and my steps feeling more significant.


End file.
